


cuddle me in

by itsmylifekay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Submissive Steve, a bit - Freeform, steve sucks bucky's thumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Bucky helps he and Steve find reassurance, and one time Steve leads the way.</p>
<p>Or, Bucky lets Steve suck his thumb when things get rough</p>
            </blockquote>





	cuddle me in

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't like the idea of a grown man sucking another grown man's thumb, this isn't for you. Just fyi. In case you missed the summary. But otherwise, enjoy!
> 
> -title from Ed Sheeran's 'kiss me'

 

Bucky was just a boy when it happened for the first time.

He had been settled down in his bunk above Steve’s, staring up at the ceiling and idly kicking his feet in the covers, when a small whimper pulled him from his thoughts. He was used to hearing Steve cough or shuffle in the middle of the night, but something about this was different. Holding his breath, he waited in absolute silence until the sound repeated again, wanting to be sure, but it that was definitely coming from the bed below him. From Steve. And he really didn’t like the sound of it.

So without a second thought he flung his legs over the side of the bed and jumped down onto the floor, flinching at the thud it made but turning immediately to get a better look at Steve. And he wasn’t hard to miss. His skin was pale white, deathly pale even, enough so that even though money and supplies were tight the nuns would often slip Steve an extra blanket in the winter, if there were any to be had. But with winter still a few months off, Steve was curled up with only a single scratchy blanket around his bony shoulders, tiny body curled up and shaking, a harsh contrast to the encompassing darkness around them.

Bucky sucked in a breath. He hated seeing Steve uncomfortable, whether it be from some bully that Bucky soon sorted out with his own fists, or the cold. But Bucky couldn't threaten the weather, couldn’t keep it away from Steve or protect him from it. He frowned and made his way over to the bed, looming over Steve as much as his adolescent body would allow. He touched his friend’s shoulder gently.

“Stevie?” He murmured. “You awake?”

Steve mumbled something that Bucky couldn’t quite make out, but he considered it good enough consent for what he meant to do.

“Can you scoot a bit for me?” Bucky urged, climbing onto the bed behind Steve and smiling at the way Steve let Bucky push him just a few inches closer to the wall. The blanket was a different matter. Steve’s tiny hands weren’t about to let go of it any time soon, but Bucky wasn’t asking either. Instead, he just curved himself right up along Steve’s back and wrapped an arm across his chest.

His hand hit against one of Steve’s arms and that really shouldn’t have piqued his interest, plenty of the other boys slept with their head pillowed on their hands or their fingers tucked beneath their chin, but this was Steve. So Bucky pushed himself up onto an elbow and peered down at Steve’s sleeping face, stifling a startled sound at what he saw. Steve’s hand wasn’t beneath his head or his chin; it was pressed up against his mouth, thumb firmly between his lips and his other fingers curled delicately around his nose. Like a baby.

“Stevie…” Bucky whispered, overcome with the same protective urge he’d come to associate with the smaller boy. Because as precious as Steve looked at the moment, Bucky knew that if any of the other boys saw him sucking on his thumb there’d be hell to pay. And Steve got enough crap for being tiny and headstrong as it were.

He brushed his fingers along Steve’s mouth, hoping to coax him to open up enough for Bucky to pull his thumb out, but froze when he felt the wetness along Steve’s cheek. Pressing his own face closer, he realized with a start that Steve was crying. In his sleep. That’s what the noise had been.

Bucky felt an uncomfortable tightening in his chest. He didn’t like it when Steve cried. Not at all.

Biting down on his lip, he carefully wiped the tears away from Steve’s face with his thumb, grazing over the corner of Steve’s mouth on his third or fourth pass and freezing when Steve let out a quiet sound and tucked his hand back down against his chest, frowning slightly before making another soft noise and furrowing his brow like he was upset. (Bucky was familiar with that face, had seen it too often when got himself into trouble around the orphanage, especially if it was for Steve’s sake).

Taking a breath and casting a furtive glance about the room to make sure there were no prying eyes, Bucky slowly smoothed his thumb over the downward curve of Steve’s lips, trying to urge him into something more relaxed. He’d often been told by the sisters to ‘wipe the look off his face’ so he figured he’d might as well try the practice out on Steve. What he definitely hadn’t been expecting was for Steve to let out a small sigh and part his lips beneath Bucky’s thumb, drawing a bit of warm skin into his mouth before ducking his head and getting even more.

Bucky stared down in fascination. Because as much as he knew that that wasn’t something that should happen, it felt _right._ Steve’s face had smoothed out again, his body had stopped shaking, and the gentle pressure on his finger was oddly comforting to Bucky as well. Positioning his hand in the same way he had seen Steve do before, careful to curl his fingers well out of the way of Steve’s breathing, Bucky settled down into the mattress and pressed his forehead into the back of Steve’s neck. Bucky’s heart jumped when Steve hummed quietly and settled back into his chest, and he clenched his eyes shut, sending out a silent plea that everything would be the same in the morning, that Steve would be fine and no one else would know what had happened.

Because Bucky knew that this was special. He didn’t know why, or if it’d even happen again. Or if Steve would be upset with him or not. He just knew that this fragile moment was something to be protected, just like Steve.

\---

It was nearly half a decade before it happened again.

They were still in the orphanage but they were older, nearing the time when they’d both be turned loose into the streets. And while Bucky was well on his way to manhood, with broad shoulders, long limbs, and a smile that was now described as ‘devilish’ rather than ‘impish’; Steve was still as small and fragile as ever. (But if Steve ever heard Bucky say something like that, there’d be hell to pay. Because Steve hated being called weak. Bucky had bloodied his knuckles more than a few times for the sake of a fight Steve had started over someone calling him weak, or a variation thereof.)

Steve’s body may’ve been tiny, but he had the heart and the pride of a lion.

Which is why Bucky didn’t quite know what to do with himself when he first walked into the infirmary to see Steve curled up under the covers crying. At first, he’d thought the ragged breathing was the start of another asthma attack, so he’d rushed over and starting rubbing up and down Steve’s back, firms strokes and a gentle croon of _‘Shhh, Stevie, it’s gonna be alright. Just breath with me, yeah?’_

Then he’d heard the first sniffle and his mind ground to a halt.

“Steve?” He asked. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Bucky had already worked himself into a state by the time Steve forced himself to leave the sanctum of his blanket, pushing himself into a sitting position in the bed before staring down at his thin hands.

“Tommy died this morning.” He said softly.

Bucky blinked twice then sat down on the edge of Steve’s mattress, stunned. The thin pad dipped heavily under his weight, causing the structure beneath it to groan in protest, but Bucky didn’t pay it any mind. He already knew the infirmary beds could hold both their weight.

Steve kept talking as Bucky settled, answering his unasked question. “The fever didn’t break overnight like it was supposed to and he just…never woke up.” After a beat of silence, Steve buried his head in his hands, shoulder hunched like a broken thing collapsing in on itself. “It’s my fault, Buck. It’s my fault. The fever, the sickness, it’s what I had just a couple weeks ago. But since I got you always fussing over me, they caught it early.”

Bucky frowned. He had no trouble remembering the episode Steve was referring to. Not with the way he’d had to practically drag Steve to the infirmary after the third long night of coughing and the kind of fretful sleeping that he’d come to associate with a lurking fever.

The cot across the room suddenly seemed horribly empty. And even though Bucky knew it was probably wrong and more than a little inconsiderate to the recently deceased, all he could think of was how easily that could be _Steve’s_ cot, _Steve’s_ unassuming departure from the world.

Bucky furrowed his brow and decided what Steve (and himself) needed was some kind of reassurance. And not just the usual hug or headlock Bucky used after lost fights in back alleys. One option came to mind, and Bucky glanced at Steve from the corner of his eye, unsure how the other boy would react.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky decided to try regardless.

“Alright, I’ll show ya what we’re gonna do.” He said, waiting for Steve to look up at him before maneuvering both of them into place. Positioned between the wall and Steve’s back, Bucky looped one arm around Steve’s chest and flexed to urge Steve into his chest. He was both relieved and worried when Steve complied with hardly any resistance. It was a testament to how torn up Steve was if he was letting Bucky mother him so much.

“Alright, now…” Bucky sucked in a breath. “You’re gonna hafta trust me here, Stevie. You trust me?”

Steve nodded.

“Then close your eyes …” Steve’s eyes fluttered shut. “And open your mouth a bit.” There was a moment of hesitation before Steve’s lips finally parted, just enough for Bucky to carefully slip the tip of his thumb inside then angle up to slide it in the rest of the way.

Steve’s eyes flew open and he tried to jerk forward, but the arm across his chest kept him firmly in place.

“Shhh, Steve it’s okay. It’s okay.” Bucky mumbled into the crook of Steve’s neck, brushing over Steve’s chest with his free hand, letting the material of his thin shirt ripple beneath the smooth strokes of his palm. “If you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it. It helps you. So just breathe. It’s okay.”

Bucky continued his mantra until Steve finally went lax against him, hands going limp on top of the covers. The rhythmic puffs of air hitting against Bucky’s fingers slowed to match his own breaths. Then, finally, after a few minutes of sitting in silence, Bucky practically _feeling_ the wheels in Steve’s head frantically turning, the first bit of pressure tugged at his thumb. Before long, Steve’s head was pressed into the side of Bucky’s neck, bobbing ever so slightly with the rhythm of his mouth.

A warm feeling spread throughout Bucky’s chest and he lifted the arm that had been around Steve’s chest to balance on his shoulder instead, blocking their connection from anyone who might enter the room. Because they couldn’t afford to be interrupted. They both needed this.

Steve, because he needed the comfort before he started blaming himself for things that were firmly beyond his control.

And Bucky, for reasons he wasn’t quite sure how to name. But the inexplicable fear he had felt when he imagined the empty cot as Steve’s was a good place to start.

\---

Bucky was relaxing on the couch, flicking through the sketchbook Steve had left lying on the cushions and listening to the sounds of Brooklyn coming in from the window, when there was a sudden thump at the door. He stood quickly and hid Steve’s drawings beneath the pile of laundry he was supposed to be folding. He had no idea who could be at the door but knew that he had to be careful regardless.

But the last thing he was expecting was for Steve to be crumpled at his feet, body shaking as his lungs struggled to take in air that was no longer coming. Bucky let out a curse and dropped to the ground, quickly scooping Steve into his arms and bringing him into the apartment, shutting the door solidly behind them.

“C’mon, Stevie,” Bucky urged. “You’ll be alright.”

Steve shook his head. “Too much…dust…Buck.” He fell into another bout of coughing and Bucky finally realized that Steve was covered in a thin film of brown, it was a wonder he’d even made it the few doors back to their apartment. Bucky never should’ve let him go over to Mrs. Johnson’s, even though the elderly woman was nice enough, she never cleaned and didn’t seem to understand that as helpful as Steve liked being, he really shouldn’t be around dusty spaces, let alone ancient chests filled with even more ancient pictures and paperwork.

Setting Steve down on the floor by the window, Bucky went to work in quickly divesting Steve of the dirtied clothes, first his jacket and then his shirt. Another cloud of dust rose into the air when he dropped Steve’s pants to join the pile, and he picked Steve up again in only his shorts to carry him away from the danger, his own heart pounding with adrenaline. Steve was still wheezing, coughing and not quite able to breathe. Bucky had hoped the loss of the dust would make the attack a little better, but if anything it only seemed to be getting worse.

Steve’s face had become pale and sweaty and every bit of air that passed by his lips was with a wheeze. It wasn’t the first time Bucky had dealt with one of Steve’s asthma attacks, not even the first time since they’d moved out on their own. In fact, being Steve’s best friend through the years meant he probably had more experience dealing with asthma attacks than most doctors. Which is why it was even more terrifying to see one last so long, causing Steve to struggle even more than Bucky ever remembered.

Sitting down on the bed and maneuvering Steve back against his chest, Bucky started rubbing firmly at his chest, trying to get the tense muscles to relax.

“Stevie, it’ll be alright.” He said. “Just breathe with me now,” he took an exaggerated breath in then blew it out slowly. “See, feel my chest? Now try to breathe with me.” He kept repeating the process, rubbing at Steve’s chest and praying it would pass, mouth on autopilot as he urged Steve to keep going, for him, for all the bullies that needed a thrashing, for the chance to go to Coney island like they’d always wanted. He kept it up for what felt like an eternity until Steve’s breaths were no longer labored. And even then he continued to rub at Steve’s chest, needing to feel the steady rise and fall of it to ease his own nerves. Steve wouldn’t be completely back to normal for a while, and he was determined to monitor every second of that time.

After a few minutes, Bucky realized Steve still hadn’t said anything, not a joke, not a brush off, not a jibe at Bucky’s hovering. Nothing. His hands were trembling slightly where they rested on Bucky’s thighs.

Bucky gave Steve a squeeze and kept him tight to his chest as he used his other arm to pull them farther back on the mattress, giving Steve time to hook his ankles around Bucky’s calves before swinging both of their legs onto the bed as well. The blankets went up around their shoulders and Bucky settled in behind Steve’s back, what had become his spot during times when Steve was sick, to keep Steve warm and Bucky sane.

But for times when Steve was really sick, just that wasn’t enough for either of them. And with Steve still breathing shallowly into the pillow and his muscles quivering in tandem with Bucky’s heart, Bucky wasted no time in curling his arm over Steve’s side and brushing his thumb along Steve’s bottom lip.

Steve dipped his head in wordless confirmation and Bucky slid his thumb inside the warm cavern of Steve’s mouth, careful to be vigilant of when Steve needed him to remove it in order to take a longer, fuller breath. The practice continued until Steve finally fell asleep, mouth open and drooling onto the pillow. But Bucky didn’t mind the wetness against his skin, not so long as he could feel Steve’s breaths hitting against his fingers.

Bucky had lost count of the number of times he had almost lost Steve. Terrifying moments like the one that night were just a sobering part of both their lives.

Bucky ducked his head and pressed a soft kiss to the nape of Steve’s neck. “Don’t you dare leave me, punk. Die on me, and I’ll kill ya.”

Steve snuffled quietly in his sleep and a fresh line of drool slid down Bucky’s finger, getting onto the blanket, creating a small dark spot that Steve would vehemently deny making in the morning.

\---

The world had changed and apparently Steve had changed with it.

Bucky still couldn’t believe it was Steve, his little Steve, who’d come and bust him out of Hydra’s base...only he wasn’t so little anymore. Bucky still half believed he was still strapped to that table, tortured and delusional, but he also knew that nowhere in his wildest dreams would he have pictured his rescue the way it’d happened.

German scientists, experimental serums, and lone missions across enemy lines were nothing Bucky could ever dream up on his own. The only thing that seemed to fit his sense of humor was Steve’s reported time as a glorified chorus girl.

But yet Steve’s presence in front of him was hard to deny, especially with the way the now larger man was constantly hovering at Bucky’s side. It was like being trailed by a tank. A very concerned, very loving tank.

Finally, after they’d both finished with their dinner and debriefings and showers, Bucky grabbed Steve by the arm and hauled him towards the tents, secretly pleased that Steve was still allowing himself to be manhandled. He waited just a moment for Steve to gesture towards his personal tent then continued yanking Steve along, shoving him inside the flimsy structure as soon as they arrived.

He followed Steve inside and soon found himself being pulled forward, hands scrabbling at his uniform for any purchase they could find. He grabbed the straps at the front of Steve’s suit with his own hands and anchored them together, holding them close as Steve buried his head in Bucky’s neck.

“Thought you were dead, Buck.” Steve whispered. The pain in his voice was unmistakable.

“Well I’m not,” Bucky whispered back. “But I am dead on my feet, so if you wouldn’t mind moving this to the bed…”

He hadn’t spoken another word before Steve was picking him up easy as a ragdoll and depositing him on top of the covers. Steve settled beside him with a smug grin on his face and Bucky glared into familiar blue eyes. God, he’d missed Steve’s eyes.

“You’re a punk, you know that?”

“Jerk.” Steve kicked lightly at Bucky’s shins. They were quite for a few minutes before Steve bumped their foreheads together and put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s really you isn’t it, Bucky? You’re back. I found you.”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky sighed, slipping a hand up to the side of Steve’s face. “You found me.” He felt Steve shudder beside him and lowered his voice. “It’s alright. You may be all big and star-spangled now, pal. But that doesn’t mean everything’s gotta be different. You understand me?”

“Yeah Buck, yeah I- please.”

“Alright, then do you wanna turn over for me?” Steve did as he was told and Bucky easily slipped into position behind him, running his thumb along Steve’s bottom lip once as a warning before sliding it inside Steve’s waiting mouth.

The sounds of the base continued around them, so different from the noises of Brooklyn Bucky had come to associate with private moments like these. The stretch on his arm was different too, having to bend more to accommodate for Steve’s larger frame. And now it was Steve seeking reassurance for Bucky’s safety, instead of the other way around.

Remembering their last moment together, the promises they’d made the night before Bucky shipped out, Bucky pulled Steve tighter to his chest and pressed a kiss just behind his ear. “Still love you, Stevie, you know that?”

A sudden rush of air passed over his fingers and he had to remind himself not to panic, that Steve’s asthma had been cured along with the muscle growth.

“Yeah,” Bucky hummed. “Big or small I still love you. Just more of you to love now, I suppose.” His joke earned him a small chuckle that shook the cot they were both crushed into, much more cramped now that Steve’s size was pushing the other side of average.

But even with all of the differences, Bucky still felt an overwhelming sense of comfort. He had Steve back in his arms. And even if Steve was bigger and stronger, he was still letting Bucky take care of him. He still had his purpose in life, still had a reason to keep fighting even if now Steve could fight for himself as well.

\---

“Hey Cap, want to join us for a game?” Jones called, waving from the circle of logs they’d gathered for a sitting area.

Bucky glanced over to where Steve was coming back from his evening watch patrol and decided to make an executive decision, rank be damned.

“Actually, he already promised to grace me with his patriotic presence this evening. Better luck tomorrow.” Bucky gave his patented crooked grin then turned on his heel to grab Steve before he could protest.

They made it back to the tent and Bucky pushed Steve inside, the other man going along begrudgingly and turning around as soon as the flaps were securely closed.

“Bucky, what was that about?”

Bucky pushed a hand through his hair then flopped down on Steve’s cot, patting the space next to him until Steve sat down (he didn’t lay down like Bucky though, which meant this was going to be a struggle).

“I’m not blind, Steve.” Bucky sighed.

“I’d like to hope not. We’d be in a sorry situation if our sniper lost his eyes.” Steve smiled down at Bucky, obviously hoping the other man would rise to the bait and forget the conversation he was gearing up to have.

Bucky didn’t.

“You need a break.” He said instead.

Steve’s face tightened. “I do not need a break. Maybe without the serum I would, but I’m fine. I’m not like everyone else, Bucky. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“You’re right,” Bucky conceded. “Maybe I don’t need to worry about Captain America. But I do need to worry about _you_ , Steve. Because if I don’t, who will? You sure as hell don’t look after yourself.”

Steve’s frown deepened and he opened his mouth -no doubt to argue- but Bucky didn’t give him the chance.

“No, Steve. You’re not indestructible. I don’t care what the doctors said, you’re still human, and you’re still you.” He turned his head and put his hand on Steve’s arm. “We can’t save everyone. And I know that bothers you, so stop being such a stubborn mule and let me do my job.”

Rubbing a hand over his face, Steve glanced down at Bucky then groaned, lying back against the mattress with a resigned grimace. Bucky grinned. “Atta boy, now c’mon, assume the position.” Bucky wriggled back on the cot and tugged at Steve’s side, guiding him as he pulled himself the rest of the way onto the bed.

He wrapped himself around Steve’s back as soon as he could and held him close, but Steve’s muscles were still tense and closed off. Bucky pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck then looped an arm around to his front.

“Steve,” he murmured. “I’m not gonna take no for an answer,” he rubbed at Steve’s lower lip with his thumb. “You gonna open up for me or make this difficult?”

Steve’s mouth softened and Bucky took the opportunity, slipping his thumb in before Steve changed his mind. “There you go,” he murmured.

Steve grunted softly in response.

And with the way Steve’s muscles slowly began to relax and his body went limp against Bucky’s chest, Bucky knew the other man was grateful. Because even if Steve didn’t want to admit it Bucky had been able to tell that all of the death and destruction had been getting to him. Had been putting too much weight on his shoulders and making him on edge. It was Bucky’s job to make sure he never got to be too much.

With a final kiss to the edge of Steve’s jaw, Bucky settled into the covers, thankful for the chance to hold Steve close and protect him until morning.

\---

He wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

He’d been told his name was James Buchannan Barnes. But he’d lived as no one for so long the idea of a name was odd to him.

Except for one.

Steve always called him Bucky. Steve who had been his best friend, his target, and now his…guardian. He knew he was dangerous, didn’t try to deny it, and in all honesty he would’ve thought they were stupid to leave him unwatched. But it was _Steve_ , and a part of him still roiled at the thought of Steve being so close to a threat. Because he was supposed to protect Steve. How could he do that when _he_ was the danger?

“Bucky?”

Bucky turned to glance up at Steve. The other man was standing next to the couch, on the side of his human arm but still within reach. The trust inherent in their proximity alone was unfathomable…and undeserved.

“Come to bed?” Steve asked. Bucky brought himself back into focus and stared at the hand that was being held out to him, taking it, but not using it to hold any of his weight as he stood.

He let himself be led to the bedroom and then be urged down onto the bed. The covers were pulled up around them. It was all normal, routine, something Bucky could handle. But then, Steve rolled over onto his side, putting his back to Bucky in a way that made Bucky’s head spin with the possibilities. He could hurt Steve, even when he wasn’t awake. There was no way he could fall asleep with Steve that vulnerable. He made to roll over, back to back was better than nothing, but was stopped by Steve reaching around and grabbing his arm, pulling them flush together- back to chest.

Panic rising, Bucky was about to pull away when he felt the warmth of a mouth against his palm, a kiss pressed to the rough skin there before lips wrapped around his thumb. “Steve,” he groaned softly, pressing his forehead between Steve’s shoulder blades as the man began to suck gently at his finger. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t. But Steve was giving it to him anyway, trying to show Bucky that he still trusted him, that he still needed this, that Bucky could still protect him in his own way.

It had been over half a century since that first time, but it was still just as perfect. And Steve was still managing to give Bucky’s life direction.

 

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
